


Natasha meets the White Druid

by marieadriana



Series: ARROW, Inc. [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Introspection, Near Death, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marieadriana/pseuds/marieadriana
Summary: Natasha meets the White Druid under less than ideal circumstances. (Takes place in December 2009)





	1. Gut Wounds and Gaia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is offered a chance.

The first time that Natasha Romanoff met the White Druid, she was bleeding out from a gunshot to her abdomen – one she knew even her Red Room serum couldn’t save her from.

She was propped up against the concrete wall in the basement of a facility that officially didn’t exist and, in a matter of moments, wouldn’t exist in reality either. The charges she’d set to destroy lab, computer banks, and operating room had twelve minutes until detonation. She didn’t worry that they’d be discovered – she hadn’t left anyone alive to disable them. Twelve minutes should have given her plenty of time to escape the facility and achieve a safe distance.

Her last foe had managed not only to snatch her comm from her ear and cut her off from her handler, but he had gotten at least one – and she was honest enough with herself to think it was likely more than that – shot off. The stink of perforated intestines was all she really needed to know about her chances.

She spared a moment of regret for her handler – Agent Phil Coulson – and her partner, Clint Barton. Coulson would be frantic – though it would never show – that she was not reachable by comm. If Barton had been anywhere in the country, he’d have been strapping on quiver and armguards, determined to charge in and extract her single handedly. Unfortunately, he’d been called home to Iowa, where his brother’s wife was about to give birth to a second child – and that bastard Barney Barton had managed to be completely unavailable due to an FBI undercover operation. Clint hadn’t hesitated when Laura had contacted him – there may be no love lost between Clint and Barney, but Clint adored his sister-in-law, his nephew Cooper, and the niece to come with a fervor she envied.

She recognized her mind drifting as one of the symptoms of blood loss, and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t spend her last few moments – whether she died before or after the detonation – in envy or regret. Instead, she dredged up an old prayer, one she’d known as a child, and began praying to a God she wasn’t sure she believed in that Phil, and Clint, and Laura, and Cooper, and the baby to come, and even that bastard Barney, would live long, happy, and safe lives.

“Hush, alannah, don’t cry,” a voice said softly in her ear, and she felt a soft hand gently wipe away her tears.

Natasha opened her eyes to protest that she wasn’t crying because Widows do not cry when she realized that yes, there was another person beside her, and that she hadn’t heard a single sound to indicate her approach.

“Who the hell are you?” Natasha asked, voice weaker than she wanted to admit.

“My name is Catriona O’Clare,” the woman responded calmly, her hands already moving to the wounds in Natasha’s abdomen. “I am the White Druid. I have been dispatched by my Mistress to offer you a chance to live – and a chance to serve Her.”

Natasha would have struggled away from the touch if she’d had the strength. The last thing she wanted was an offer to serve anyone – even at the price of her life. The woman in front of her laughed, laying one hand gently on Natasha’s face and tilting her face to make eye contact.

Catriona was beautiful, the kind of wild beauty that Natasha had always secretly envied. Her hair was also red, but unlike Natasha’s, it was the bright copper and gold of fall foliage. The springy curls brought to mind dancers she’d seen in the past – Irish dancers, and that effect was magnified by the creamy porcelain of her skin, the light dusting of freckles. If Natasha had been asked to create an archetypical Irishwoman, she would have looked an awful lot like the person in front of her. She was dressed in a shapeless white robe which did much to disguise her figure – but Natasha could tell from her hands and forearms that she was slender and probably strong. Though crouched beside her, it was also easy to estimate that the woman was petite – shorter than her own height by several inches, and possible closer to four feet than five in height.

“Doubt is reasonable, achara,” Catriona told her calmly. Natasha felt a warmth where her hands touched, but wrote it off as effects of shock and blood loss. “I would expect nothing less, from a survivor of the Red Room.” Natasha kept the shock at that statement off her face, but the woman smiled anyway. “Yes, I know a great deal about you. Do not let it alarm you. The Great Mother has kept watch over you, and has passed that knowledge on to me. I have no intention of sharing it with others.”

Natasha began to feel a cessation of pain, and accepted it as the final step before death. She drew in a careful breath and spoke with more force than she had previously. “You can let me die, because I’ll serve no other master. Or mistress.”

“Shouldn’t you hear Her offer first?” Catriona asked, with an impish smile. “I’ve no intention of letting you die, whether you accept her offer or not. As I said, She has been interested in you for a number of years, and I would not anger Her by letting you die now.”

“We only have a few minutes before the building blows,” Natasha warned her. She wasn’t sure what prompted her to do that – she’d had no intention of giving the druid a chance to escape.

Although, given that she wasn’t certain how the druid had managed to get in, she wasn’t entirely sure she could keep her from getting out anyway.

“We have time enough.” Catriona drew her hands away from Natasha and to the agent’s shock, they were clean. No blood showed on those graceful fingers – there wasn’t a blotch on the white sleeve, which she clearly had felt wiping blood from her side. More surprised by that than anything, Natasha finally nodded. “I take it by your lack of reaction that you are not familiar with my name? Or my title as the White Druid?” Natasha shook her head. “Very well. I am one of less than a dozen druids who still serve the Great Mother – Gaia, my Goddess, the soul of your earth. It is through She that I have the power to heal your wounds – it is through She that I have walked this earth for two millennia, in Her service.” Natasha blinked, but didn’t respond otherwise. “There are those, too, who She chooses as Her warriors – those of exceptional ability and heart, who will protect not only Her interests, but others in Her service. Warriors like yourself.”

“I may have exceptional ability, but I’d argue about the heart,” Natasha murmured.

“I know that you would,” Catriona agreed, with a gentle hand to Natasha’s face. It really should bother her, Natasha thought, that this stranger kept touching her. She didn’t like to be touched. “But Gaia sees all, and She believes that you have the soul of a guardian – a protector. She wishes to offer you a place as one of Her Chosen Warriors. It would not conflict with any of your existing oaths – though there may come a time where you must choose whose interests you protect. It would mean increased healing, strength, and agility – it would also mean that you would be able to speak with Gaia, and to summon me in times of need. Though you may not meet others in Her service immediately, you would be part of a larger whole – a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength, and hope to protect Gaia and her children.”

“And if I say no?” Natasha asked.

Catriona shrugged. “Then I am gone, and you will likely never see me again. You will have time to escape this facility, to return to your handler and partner, to resume your life as an Agent of Shield. You will serve a master instead of a mistress.”

“What made you come?” Natasha asked, her mouth forming the question before she’d decided to speak.

“When death came for you, achara, you did not pray for deliverance – you prayed for the health and happiness of those you care for – and even one that you do not.” There was no inflection in her words, just the lilt of an accent that matched the curly red hair.

Natasha closed her eyes, searched what was left of her soul, and nodded. “I accept.”


	2. Gone to Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha accepts her new role as one of Gaia's Chosen Warriors.

“Good,” Catriona told her, rising smoothly to her feet and offering Natasha a smile and a hand up.  “Let us absent ourselves from this place, before it ceases to be habitable.”

Natasha took the proffered hand out of politeness, but rose without exerting any pressure on it – her own lithe grace restored by the druid’s ministrations.  Idly she noticed that though her skin was unmarred, her uniform was not – Clint was going to tease her unmercifully for ruining another catsuit.  “How did you plan to get out?” Natasha asked, brushing her hands on her thighs.  Surreptitiously she checked that her knives were still in her thigh holsters, and slid one hand up her spine in imitation of a stretch to check the position of the weapons in her lumbar holster.

“Were I alone, I would be walking out of here as I entered – unfortunately, this is not an option for you.”  Catriona smiled, and Natasha marveled that despite their circumstances, the druid’s smile was open and the joy flickered in her green eyes.  Maybe it was adrenaline, she told herself.  Surely a being more than two thousand years old would have less verve and more weariness in her expression.  “Plane walking is limited to druids, and even then I cannot take others with me – only myself.”

Plane walking didn’t sound all that mystical, but Natasha shrugged it off and gestured.  “Follow me, and stay close,” she ordered, dropping into a tactical crouch and surveying the area.

“I assure you, we’re quite alone here,” the druid told her calmly.  As the petite woman followed, Natasha noted her bare feet flickering beneath the hem of her robe.  “Your attack was quite efficient.”

“Assumptions get agents killed,” Natasha told her absently, tone one of oft repeated axiom.  The better part of her attention was on clearing her surroundings, moving them closer to her targeted exit.  “Besides,” she added, quirking one eyebrow up slightly, “I wouldn’t want to start a bad habit.  Practice makes permanent.”

Catriona tilted her head to one side, considering the modified adage.  “I rather like that phrasing.  One of yours?”

“Coulson’s,” Natasha replied.  “My handler.  One of many, most of them apt.” Another half quirk.  “Although I wouldn’t tell him that.”

“Your connection to him is strong – you must have served with him for a number of years.  There is a great deal of trust.  That other gentleman – Clint.  Your tie to him is even stronger.”

Natasha froze, pivoting lightly and just barely managing to avoid directly aiming her weapon at the druid.  She couldn’t decide which reaction to voice, so she merely waited, pistol in hand pointed just off to one side, her eyes fixed on Catriona.

“I meant no offense, and did not intend to alarm you,” Catriona responded calmly.  She ignored the weapon, her own attention on the tense warrior.  “Part of my abilities – indeed, that of all druids – is to see the ties that bind people.  You have likely seen art of the type, the complex knot work?”  At Natasha’s sharp nod, Catriona continued.  “When two people meet, there is an initial thread between them.  As they exchange ideas and emotions, the threads grow stronger and more numerous.  Time adds depth, complexity gives it strength.  What is between you and Coulson – and between yourself and Barton – is an intricate creation.”  Catriona smiled, though Natasha thought it was a little sad.  “It is rather beautiful, I wish that you could see it as I do.”

“So, you’re telling me that Celtic knots are just druids trying to chart relationships?” Natasha asked incredulously.

Catriona waved her hand negligently.  “Oh, goodness no.  It may have begun that way, or be used that way from time to time, but most knots are just decorations.  There aren’t enough druids left for every knot to be drawn by one,” she added quietly.

Natasha nodded to acknowledge she’d heard, though she didn’t know how to respond to that.  She continued towards the exit, more urgency in her steps now as they neared the goal.  Within moments, they were outside in the early evening light of an eastern European countryside.  Natasha didn’t halt, moving towards the bolt-hole she’d secured earlier.  There was little left of the house which had once stood here, but a solid cellar would provide her cover from any detonation shockwave.  Catriona followed her in, folding herself into a seated position as Natasha checked her supplies and the time again.

When the jolt of the facility’s detonation reached their ears, Natasha automatically moved to shield the civilian – though no sign of the destruction reached them but the noise.  Catriona smiled at her, brushing wild hair out of her face, and gestured to the dirt floor of the cellar.  “Please, join me.  I would like to introduce you to our Mistress.”

Natasha sank to the floor as well, arranging herself in a mirror image of the seated druid.  “Very good,” Catriona complimented her.  “Now, reach down with a bare hand, and touch the soil.  It is easier, if you have more skin in direct contact, but I’ll not ask you to do that in an anonymous basement… with a stranger.”

“I’ve done worse,” Natasha murmured, pressing her right palm to the dirt floor.  “Now what?”

\\\It is customary to utter a greeting,// a warm voice in her mind told her.  Somehow she knew that the voice was female, powerful, and amused – and Natasha was also equally sure the voice knew everything there was to know about her.  \\\Yes, I do,// the voice responded.  \\\I am oft called Gaia.  My druid also refers to me as the Great Mother.  You may use whatever term of address feels most appropriate.//

“Thank you,” Natasha answered automatically.  Did she even need to speak to be understood?

\\\No, but it clarifies your thoughts.//

Right.  Thoughts.  Natasha pushed aside the emotions she didn’t have time to deal with (shock, amazement, awe, maybe a little wonder, definitely shock.  Could she still claim blood loss, even after being healed by the druid?) and forced her thoughts back to order.  “What do you wish of me?”

She’d tried to sound defiant – she thought she’d managed it credibly, though the small snort from Catriona told her she’d missed the mark.  Maybe she’d have been better off to demand than ask.  Hard to maintain her image as an imperturbable, immovable, immoral assassin when sitting cross legged on a dirt floor, fingers of her right hand pressed to the ground.  If Clint or Coulson saw this – well, she’d never put the fear back in them.

\\\At present, I have no orders for you, laoch,// Gaia responded calmly.  \\\I have suggestions which might improve your skill set.  I recommend practicing communicating with me like this – to begin with, limit yourself to a quarter hour per day, so as not to overtire new pathways.  You would also do well to schedule some of your physical training sessions out of doors, where you can bare your feet.  The enhancements I can provide to your strength and agility are more easily accessible when you are in direct contact.//

Natasha nodded shortly, then realized that she had no idea if the entity she was speaking with could see her nod.  Entity?  Lifeform?  Deity?  Goddess?  Demigod?

\\\Goddess is simplest,// Gaia interrupted.  \\\I do not see as mortals do, but I am aware of your physical reactions as well as your thoughts.  Be at ease, Baintreach Dhubh.//

Up to this point, Natasha had let slide the terms she hadn’t understood, the language foreign despite her world travels.  This phrase, though, had emphasis on it that made her think it was a name, and she needed to know what it meant – what Gaia had called her, and would continue to call her.

\\\Baintreach Dhubh is the Gaelic translation of Black Widow, alannah,// Gaia replied.  After a pause, she continued.  \\\Alannah means child.  Laoch, which I called you earlier, means warrior.  By what name do you wish to be called?//

That was a damned good question.  She liked the way the translation of her codename sounded, when Gaia spoke it, but it felt wrong somehow.  The codename was a remnant of her Soviet training, a reminder of her deadliness and intended to cause fear.  She didn’t want to begin her service to Gaia with the weight of that name.

\\\By what other names are you called?// Gaia prompted.

Clint called her Nat most of the time, though he called her Tasha when he was feeling strongly about something.  Occasionally even Tash, but in the same emotional situations.  In the field, of course, he called her Agent Romanoff.  In tactical communications, when he was following protocol, he referred to her as Widow.

Coulson never referred to her as Nat or Tasha, and it was rare for him to call her Natasha at all.  Romanoff was usually what he called her, prefaced by her rank when necessary.  It didn’t feel formal, from him.

Fury – the director of SHIELD and Coulson’s supervisor – had called her Natasha only once.  He hadn’t repeated it, after receiving simultaneous glares from herself, Coulson, and Clint.  He tended to stick to her codename or surname.

\\\And personally?  Outside of your work?//

There wasn’t much, outside of her work, Natasha admitted.  Just Clint’s family… his sister-in-law Laura, and nephew Cooper.  And the new baby, though Natasha didn’t know what the niece would be named.  Laura was the closest thing she had to a girlfriend, the only woman who’d ever accepted her friendship as it was, without trying to pry.  Laura called her Nat, too, unless she was speaking to Cooper – then she was Auntie Nat. 

She liked being Auntie Nat.

\\\The Gaelic form of auntie is Aintin.  There is no name equivalent to Natasha, though a translation of the root would put it close to Nollaig.  Does either of these appeal to you?//

Not particularly, but then it didn’t mean the same, coming from Gaia.  From Laura, it was a verbal invitation into her family – a frequent reminder that she was welcome and trusted.

\\\Ah.//  Natasha could feel the shift in Gaia’s attention.  \\\M’inion, then.  My daughter, daughter of mine.  M’inion Nat.//

It was one inflection away from being ‘minion’, one pronunciation away from casual and dismissive.  Something she could shrug off, if others heard it, but which warmed her.  It made her feel very much like being called Auntie Nat… but bigger.

“Thank you,” Natasha whispered.


	3. Parting of Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Catriona part ways.

Natasha felt the first twinge of a headache, similar to the strain of staring at a computer screen for too long.

\\\You should withdraw your mind now, m’inion,// Gaia cautioned. \\\We will talk again anon. Listen to my druid, Catriona Alanna, and know that I am well pleased that you have chosen to accept my service.//

Natasha tried to find words to express her gratitude, settled for knowing that the Goddess would understand her incoherent thoughts, and lifted her palm from the dirt floor.

Catriona’s smile was warm, her eyes glittering as she watched Natasha. “It’s never quite as miraculous again,” Catriona told her. “That first touch of Her mind… it will always be good, but like so many things, the first time is unique.”

Natasha quirked an eyebrow, astonished to see a blush rise in Catriona’s pale cheeks. “I tend to think of first times as a benchmark of where to go to improve.”

“You would,” Catriona agreed. “I’ve been told it is such for Her warriors. Perhaps it is merely a difference in philosophy.” She made no move to rise, looking entirely at ease on the floor. Her robe pooled around her knees, and Natasha was inappropriately curious as to whether she was wearing anything under it. Surely?

“Why does Gaia call you Catriona Alanna?” Natasha asked. “And does it feel odd to call her Gaia? It seems so… casual.”

Catriona smiled. “Much as She did with your name, She made mine unique to me. Alanna means child, so when She speaks of me, She is saying ‘Catriona child.’ It was often used as a term of affection in my family, and it reminds me of the love I had as a child, and the love that She bears for me now. As for referring to Her…” Catriona trailed off, looking over Natasha’s shoulder and not seeming to see anything. “Most often I do not call her Gaia unless I seek to speak with her. In my own mind, I call her the Great Mother, or my Mistress, or the Goddess. Great Mother is what feels most right.”

Natasha nodded slowly. “I can see that.” She could also guess that if she ever said it aloud in front of Clint, he would immediately and irreverently nickname her Big Mama. 

She kind of liked that notion.

But the thought of Clint made her pause. “Is this… secret?” Natasha asked.

“You may tell your gentlemen – Coulson and Clint. You may also choose not to. It is up to you,” Catriona answered with a shrug. “If you trust them, and they will believe you, share whatever you like. She does not wish you to be forced to keep secrets from those that you… have ties with.”

Natasha noticed the self-editing and narrowed her eyes. “Have ties with?”

“My dear, the last time I commented on your relationship with one of those gentlemen, you paused in flight from a detonation to point a weapon in my direction. I would take it kindly if you do not assume that I am stupid,” Catriona replied primly.

“You have a point,” Natasha admitted. “So I can tell Coulson and Clint. What about other people in my life?” She thought of Laura and Cooper, and Fury. It wasn’t difficult to guess that telling Fury wasn’t wise. “Only tell someone as much as I trust them,” she answered herself.

“And I would not suggest telling your previous-dare-he-know-it-master, he who directs your missions,” Catriona cautioned.

“Director Fury?”

“Yes. He is…” Catriona tapped one long finger against a folded knee, searching for words. “…what is that quote. A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma? Ah yes. Churchill. Now there was a stout warrior, though he fought more often with his words than a weapon.”

Both of Natasha’s eyebrows lifted. “You knew Churchill? Winston Churchill?”

“Well, he was one of Her warriors. Of course I knew him.” Catriona waved that off. “Never mind him, we were discussing your director. I do not know him well, but I do not like him. Not,” she added, “that liking someone is a prerequisite for trusting them. However, I find him difficult to read. His motives are complex and layered, and though I do not doubt that he believes he acts both morally and necessarily, I find that my definitions of such things are stricter.” She shrugged. “That is merely my observation, achara. I suggest that you discuss it with our Mistress if you would like a better more definite answer.”

“What did you call me? Achara?”

Catriona looked embarrassed. “Oh aye, forgive me. It means friend, roughly, just a casual endearment. Mother mentioned that you don’t seem to like them, but I am afraid I am much in the habit of dropping them in conversation. I will endeavor to guard my speech.”

“It’s… alright,” Natasha said slowly. “I don’t mind that one. Not many people call me friend.”

“I know,” Catriona said with a sympathetic smile. “I can tell from the threads of your connections. Far too few have the complexity of friend… but I should hope that the one between you and I would grow to be one such.”

To her surprise, Natasha answered “I hope so too.” She ran a finger down the bodice of her catsuit, fingering the shredded material at her waist. The normally flexible fabric was stiffening as the blood soaking it dried. “For more reasons than this,” she added, flicking her fingers at the blood. “I’m grateful to be alive. I don’t think I said thank you, earlier.”

“I doubt that’s a phrase you say often. You are welcome, achara. I healed you at the Goddess’s behest, but it was my pleasure all the same. The saving of lives and easing of pain has not ceased to bring me joy, despite so many centuries of it.”

“Is that something I’ll have to contend with?” Natasha asked, as casually as she could manage. “Centuries?”

“Goodness, no.” Catriona shook her head. “Druids live as long as our Goddess requires. None save She can end our lives – no mortal illness, no manner of weapon, no expanse of time. We serve Her until the need for our services is gone.”

“So… forever,” Natasha filled in for her. “You said there’s less than a dozen of you. I can’t see Her letting go of someone as experienced as you.”

“Perhaps not forever,” Catriona amended with a soft smile. “She has told me that She wishes me someday to find my heart match, have children, and train new druids. I am hopeful that when I am a mother myself, She sees fit to allow me to age as my children would.”

That was a sobering thought – marrying, having children, outliving them all. Natasha shoved that thought and the emotions it raised into a corner of her mind and refocused on the druid. “I need to get back to my handler,” she said. “With my comm down, he won’t know what happened.”

“Of course.” Catriona rose smoothly. “I shall leave you, now. If you wish to speak with me, you may do so through the Goddess – She can allow us to speak across distances. If you require my presence, you need only ask it of Her, and She will inform me.”

“And you can find me anywhere?” Natasha asked, eyebrow twitching again. She rose as well, brushing dirt off of her legs. Catriona’s robe, she noted, was unsoiled.

“If you are on this planet or within Her atmosphere, yes. The farther you are from the surface, the longer it will likely take me to locate you, and there can be some challenges to reach you if, for instance, you were in a fighter jet at the time.” Catriona smiled. “Steady airspeed is appreciated.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Natasha replied, and let her lips twitch into a full smile. “I’ll see you around,” she said to Catriona, offering her a casual wave.

Catriona ignored the wave, stepped closer to Natasha, and hugged her gently. “You will indeed. Stay safe, achara.”


End file.
